


Coma Baby

by WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs



Series: Coma Baby [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Worship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Fantasizing, Forced Ejaculation, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs/pseuds/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs
Summary: Why Shaun was left babysitting the corpse, he supposed he’d never know.
Relationships: Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles
Series: Coma Baby [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915558
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Coma Baby

**Author's Note:**

> if it aint obvious by the million non-con tags, this is incredibly fucked up
> 
> legit i been working on this fic and referring to it as "coma bb" for so long that i ended up referring to Revelations as "the Coma Baby game" in conversation

Why Shaun was left babysitting the corpse, he supposed he’d never know. 

…Maybe that was a bit much, but he might as well have been. Desmond hadn’t moved in nearly a week, and while it wasn’t that long all things considered, it meant that the rest of them were sitting on their hands wasting time until he came out of it. Everything always relied on Desmond, didn’t it? Not like they were on a schedule or anything—no, let’s all just sit around waiting for him to get his act together. _Bloody typical._

So… maybe Shaun was a little drunk—but he thought he’d earned the right to be. Wasn’t like there was anything else to do while he was sitting on his ass, occasionally checking Desmond’s vitals and taking note of how they never fucking changed. He probably wasn’t coming out of it anytime soon, why did he need supervision? 

Shaun wanted to say that he hated the guy, but that wasn’t entirely true either. Much as he wished it was, sometimes. It’d be so easy to just hate him outright, but he had to go and be… **Desmond.** With his nice smile, the wonderful laugh he had that always made Shaun’s heart flutter, broad shoulders that Shaun just wanted to dig his nails into while Desmond fucked him into the ground… 

Shaun had been staring at him for nearly an hour, filthy thoughts running through his head untethered by the social mores that usually kept them in line. 

Even now he was fucking gorgeous. Shaun had never really had the chance to examine his features, for fear of being caught staring, but there was no one around to catch him now, not even Desmond. So he stared—or, _admired_ was more like it, taking in every little detail: the slope of his nose, beautiful full lips, eyes that, though closed, never seemed to lose their shine and hope even after all the shit that life had thrown at him. All that, combined with the slight tilt of his head, the light stubble, and his completely relaxed expression—no tension, no fear, no nothing. God, he looked like a _masterpiece._

A masterpiece that Shaun wanted to rub his dick on. 

Christ, he had it bad. 

He had it even worse when he was like this, his inhibitions loosened from drinking. A stupid thought entered his head, left him recalling Desmond’s past life serving drinks (at that bar… what was it called? _Shit Storm_? Didn’t matter) and wondering what Desmond could have served him if they had met under better circumstances… 

Then he started getting… ideas. His confused feelings of need and anger and his own fucking self-loathing all mixed into a horrible brew that left him with dark thoughts. Then it was just up to him to not act on them. That was harder than it sounded, particularly now. 

Against his better judgment, he reached out to touch him. 

Gently, at first, just stroking along his cheek, skin that was so soft juxtaposed with the harshness of his growing beard. No reaction, no movement, just the subtle breathing so soft one could almost miss it. He could try to rationalize this to himself by saying that this was just like if he was… asleep, and then try to justify why _that_ would be okay. But it wasn’t, and there was no getting around it. The things he was thinking of doing to him… 

His thumb traced Desmond’s lips, and that’s when he started losing it. 

Just a little, that was all he needed, just… 

The higher part of his brain, the part that drove all of his decisions normally, the _reasonable_ part, was screaming at him to stop. The hedonistic part of his brain, on the other hand, the part that clouded his normally logical self with feelings of admiration, the part that made him cry out Desmond’s name when he was hunched over his computer and touching himself late at night, was what pushed him forward to kiss him. 

There was something oddly exciting about the complete lack of a response. Not reciprocating, but also not pulling away, completely slack and at Shaun’s will. That was a dangerous precedent, one that he told himself he wouldn’t abuse… only to immediately do so. 

He tilted Desmond’s head as he deepened the kiss, unable to bite back a moan, his face burning at the perverse thrill it gave him. His hands were shaking, the other raised to Desmond’s chin to slowly open his mouth. Even that made Shaun whimper; there was something so vulgar about the sight of him with his mouth hanging open, like he was waiting, like he was wanting… 

He kissed him again, tongue diving in to finally, fucking _finally_ taste him. And it was so good, the moan that left him when he brushed his tongue against Desmond’s was so needy and pathetic and a bit too loud for his liking. But couldn’t help himself, just that taste, that glance, it drove him further. It was disgusting, and not at all the way he’d typically go about it, but in that moment he wanted to taste every inch of Desmond’s mouth: the roof, under his tongue, the insides of his cheeks, the back of his teeth. 

He pulled away with a gasp, still cradling Desmond’s face in his hands. His mouth was still hung open, a string of saliva still connecting him to Shaun. _Disgusting,_ in all the best ways. 

Shaun released his hold on him, allowing his head to hang, the strand between them broken. He sat back in his seat, returning to watching Desmond and thinking over what the fuck he’d just done, all while palming himself through his slacks. He was already half-hard just from watching him earlier, but now that he’d made that move? Fuck, his cock _ached._

He knew what he wanted to do with that mouth now. But he couldn’t… could he?

“You’re too fucking pretty for your own good…”

A pang of guilt struck him as he pulled his cock out. Really not a great time to be having second thoughts. He… he wasn’t a bad person, he tried to tell himself, he was just… doing bad shit. He was drunk, and stupid, and lonely, and angry, and a million other things he could say to try and excuse his actions. 

There was that part of his brain again, that pleasure-seeking irrationality, making itself known. He stared down at his cock in his hand, then looked at Desmond, and felt it throb. He needed this, consequences be damned. 

“I…” his voice broke, “I’m sorry, Desmond…” Some part of him was, anyway, just not presently. 

He didn’t press in right away, taking the time to just admire as he lined up. Tilting Desmond’s head back, parting his lips, letting the head of his cock just sit there, an errant drop of precum dripping down his cheek. _Bloody hell._

He couldn’t take it—the warmth of his breath, the inviting wetness of his mouth—he pressed all the way in and nearly collapsed in on himself. 

A broken moan fell from him, followed by a whine of Desmond’s name. His hand grabbed him by the hair, which had grown to just the right length to be comfortably pulled on _(while he was in a fucking coma what the fuck are you **doing** Shaun Hastings)._

“Christ alive…” he muttered, his voice slurred in his haze of arousal and drunkenness, “You look good with my cock in your mouth… I bet you’d look even better choking on it…”

He saw the rise of Desmond’s chest, and for a brief, panicked second, thought that he had woken up. Then the puff of his breath on his cock reminded him—oh right, he needed to breathe. 

Shaun withdrew with a wet pop (that was so fucking vulgar), watching as Desmond’s body panted unconsciously underneath him, trying to find its natural rhythm again. 

“Sorry about that,” This time he really was; he didn’t want to kill the guy, “But I’m still making use of that heavenly mouth you’ve got…” He wasn’t sorry about that part, though. 

He decided that doing this while standing to the side of the Animus wasn’t working, moving to straddle it (and Desmond) and trying not to topple in the process—Christ, he was plastered. No wonder he was doing this shit. 

The terrifying thought entered his head, of what if Desmond _had_ woken up while he was like this? What would he think? What would he _do?_ Rightfully push him away, or… 

There went his mind again, imagining Desmond staring up at him, seeing Shaun standing over him with his cock hard and waiting, the taste of it still lingering on his lips, and… opening up, welcoming him in, begging for it— _please, Shaun, don’t stop, let me taste it._

With a hand in his hair, he pulled Desmond’s head upright, allowing him, hopefully, to breathe better, while he pressed back in. He was much more hesitant about going too deep, instead peeling back the foreskin to reveal the head and thrusting shallowly into his mouth. Fuck—even despite the slackness of his jaw, there was still a heat, a dampness, a pressure. 

It was frantic, sloppy, and all things considered, not very sexy. Well, save for the illicit nature of it. It was thrilling, and also… weirdly fulfilling. He finally had Desmond where he wanted him, able to indulge his desire, and without the added worry of having to deal with the emotional side of it. 

Aside from his own, that is. He was going to hate himself tomorrow, but what else was new. 

His orgasm creeping up on him was sudden and intense, giving him only a few seconds to think this through—much as he’d love cumming in Desmond’s mouth, that may end up with him choking again. 

He whimpered at the cold air on his cock as he pulled out, but dear God, the sight of him—

Features still relaxed, but his cheeks were flushed, almost like he knew what was going on. His lips lightly bruised and still slick with spit. The act itself must have been triggering his salivary glands, because he was drooling _so much,_ a string still connecting him to Shaun’s cock. He did his best not to move while he finished himself off, wanting to keep that image frozen in time as long as he possibly could. 

His freehand gripped the headrest of the Animus, his legs quaking underneath him, the sounds leaving him pitiful and far too loud. His eyes were clenched shut as it hit, letting slip one more groan of Desmond’s name and a string of whimpers followed. 

He didn’t open his eyes until he was done, and the sight of Desmond _now_ had his dick throbbing in his hand again. 

Cum painted his face in sporadic droplets, ending up in his hair, dripping from his brow, a stray strand even having found its way to his still parted lips. 

That was too good an image to let go to waste, hence why Shaun ended up snapping a picture of it on his phone and forever immortalizing it in his wank vault. 

_Yup, he was definitely going to hell._

“Sorry about that, mate,” Shaun muttered, tucking himself back into his trousers, “Let me get you cleaned up.”

Somewhere he found a discarded rag, stained with god-knows-what, and set about cleaning Desmond up. During that time, while his eyes were wandering, he noticed the prominent bulge in Desmond’s jeans. 

“I’ll help you out with that, too,” Shaun offered, like he was doing _him_ a favor, when it was just one more thing done for his own self-gratification. 

As evidenced by the way he bit his lip and gasped as he felt Desmond up; the heat and the weight coming off him as he cupped the bulge. When grinding the heel of his hand down against it, he could feel how solid and hard he was—Christ, you could cut diamonds with that dick. 

He needed to see it, needed—

“Oh my god,” slipped out before he could stop it. What the fuck—even his dick was perfect. 

So wonderfully thick, filling his palm perfectly like it was fucking made for it. Uncut and thus unmarred by any ugly scar, the same uniform tan complexion all the way down, the foreskin naturally rolled up just enough to leave the beautiful pink tip exposed. When Shaun let his hand wander further down, to cup his balls—fuck, even those were perfect; tight and solid and _full._

Christ, the things Shaun wanted to do to him _now_ —to let Desmond pound away at him with his stupidly thick cock, to completely drain his balls and swallow down all of his hot cum, to not relent on him until he was cumming dry and _begging_ Shaun to stop, begging for _no more—_

…Where did that come from?

He tried to put it out of his mind, much as that was probably a bad idea. What was a good idea, though, a fucking brilliant idea, was turning his attention back to Desmond. 

He took the time to spit into one of his hands, while with the other he smeared the drop of precum at the slit, then licking it off his finger. 

Fuck, it should be _illegal_ to taste that good…

“God, you have no idea how incredible you taste…” Shaun mumbled, hushed and frantic as he stroked Desmond’s cock, “…or maybe you do. Have you ever done that—try to taste yourself? Lick your fingers clean after you cum? I wonder if you liked it…” 

No reaction, of course. But he knew Desmond could hear him, and that’s what spurred him on. 

“You don’t even know the things I want to do to you. And I could, with you being completely at my mercy… I could _ride_ this magnificent fucking cock of yours—Christ, do you even realize how gorgeous you are, Miles? Probably not with how bloody thick you are.” Maybe he should shut up…

…and focus on the fact that Desmond’s cock was leaking all over his hand. Fuck, that was good. With an upward stroke he watched as slowly filled the basin created by the foreskin surrounding the slit until it overflowed. That image was far more appealing than it should have been…

Could he finish Desmond off like this? He certainly hoped so, given the fact that his body was reacting at all. The most he could do was listen for Desmond’s breathing, how it came shorter and shorter the further it went along, the slight hitch in his breath as his fist sped up. 

Shaun found his mind wandering, to what it would be like to be doing this to Desmond while he was conscious… To see his expression, hear the sounds he’d make (gasps, whimpers, _moans_ ), feel the way he’d thrust up into Shaun’s fist, maybe even hear him say his name…

A whimper left his throat at the thought. Fuck, he was hard again. He wasn’t going to try and push his luck, it was too risky and he was already playing with fire by doing what he was doing right now. 

A sound drew him out of his haze and nearly made him freeze, until he realized what it was: a soft groan from Desmond, so quiet and so deep in his throat Shaun barely heard it. 

That made Shaun smile, stroking faster and faster until his wrist ached. “ _That’s it, Desmond…_ ” 

There was a slight twitch in his brow, his breath caught in his throat—

“ _…cum for me._ ”

Another involuntary groan, so soft Shaun almost missed it, then he noticed the heat and the throbbing in his fist. Thin, white strands shot straight up and fell, mostly coating his hand save for a few errant drops landing elsewhere. _So bleeding hot_ it felt like his skin was on fire where it hit. He didn’t stop, continuing his steady stroking until it was over. A bit hard to tell when, without Desmond being able to verbalize it to him, but the subtle tremble gave it away—the telltale sign of sensitivity setting in. 

The sight of his hand coming away, wet and sticky and still connected to Desmond’s softening cock was fucking obscene. 

He needed to know, he needed to taste…

He sucked one of his fingers clean, letting it sit heavily on his tongue as he examined it. Typical, really, not that he was an expert or anything—the usual smooth texture and bite of saltiness. Already he was mentally comparing it to his own (because of course that’s the first thing his stupidly analytical brain would do), as that was the only point of reference close to hand. 

There was still something uniquely… _Desmond_ about it. Of course there was. 

“You need to eat more fruit,” he concluded, before setting about to wipe his hands clean. And Desmond, he supposed, he needed to do that too. 

He hadn’t even done up the zipper before he heard someone approaching. 

“Jesus Christ, Becs—knock first?” 

“I did, more than once,” Rebecca snorted, taking a seat by the Animus, “How’s he been?”

“Braindead as ever,” Shaun shook his head, trying to face away from her and hoping she didn’t notice… anything. Already he was worrying about every little detail he hadn’t thought to clean up—the fact that Desmond’s shirt was riding up a little, his zipper still undone, that Shaun could still smell him on his hand, quickly stuffing both in his pockets to try and hide them, wondering if there wasn’t an errant drop of cum on them somewhere that he’d missed. 

“Shaun, c’mon,” she reprimanded, “Ease up on the guy a little. I know what you really think of him.” 

What. His face turned bright red, hopefully not visible from the darkness of the room, “What, that he’s a bloody moron who’s supposed to be saving the world yet just sits on his arse all day?! How we’re all going to be dead in a few months if he doesn’t get his shit together? Oh, and need I forget what he did to Lucy—and I know what _you_ really thought of _her,_ so don’t try to act like he’s so perfect, Rebecca.”

Despite his words, Rebecca only watched calmly with a sly smirk, seeming amused. “The lady protests too much, methinks.” 

“Can’t even get the quote right,” he sighed, feigning exasperation. Part of him wanted to leave, but he felt that he couldn’t yet. Didn’t know if he was completely off the hook. He needed to be certain that he wasn’t going to be called out. 

Rebecca only shook her head at him, returning to the screen. An awkward pause followed, Shaun trying not to look too obvious as he hovered nearby. 

“Got some weird readings a while ago,” she observed, “You didn’t see anything happen?”

“N-no.” 

“Really?” Now she was looking at him. With that look, that _something’s definitely wrong_ look. The color drained from his face as she stared at him. 

“Y-yeah, really, just… uneventful. Maybe something was going on in his head, though I-I doubt that,” he tried to deflect. 

She clicked her tongue at him, disbelieving, then turning back to the screen. “You know… you can really fuck with his head if you say weird shit to him while he’s like this. I’m just saying, that’s dangerous, and who knows what he might retain when he comes out of it.” 

As if he didn’t feel guilty enough. “ _If_ he comes out of it…” he muttered. 

She tilted her head in his direction, “Yeah… ‘if.’” Another lengthy pause, almost like she was waiting for him to crack. “I’m happy to relieve you, if you wanna turn in for the night.” 

“I…” Well, fuck. 

“Or, if you feel like apologizing any time soon, I can leave you two alone,” her knowing gaze seemed all the more reproachful now. 

She made the decision for him, clapping him on the shoulder as she stood and headed for the door. Leaving him alone with his thoughts. And… with Desmond. 

The blush from his cheeks had faded, leaving him looking like he had before. Serene, peaceful, unsuspecting, vulnerable. The high that Shaun had been running on up until now was gone, the voice in his head that drove him to those actions had grown silent. Even the booze in his system felt like it was wearing off. 

Nothing else he could blame it on. He was the one who made those decisions. 

_…What the fuck have you done, Hastings?_

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from [a mostly unrelated nicole dollanganger song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1T-MGCol5Y) because of course it does
> 
> already got a follow-up in the works, dealing with the fall out of this fic. 
> 
> also; i had and scrapped a part to this that was desmond's pov in the animus. would anyone be interested in that, as a little bonus to this series? lemme know


End file.
